


The hunter becomes the prey

by DiseasedBreeze



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Blood Drinking, Dragon!Slade, Edging, Fae!Riddler, Fingering, Hunter!Bruce, Incubus!Ra's, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Partners, Multiple Sex Positions, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Supernatural AU - Freeform, cum dumpster Bruce, handjob, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-02-04 08:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Monster Hunter Bruce has ended up at the non-existent mercy of his many enemies. After successfully defending Gotham against a variety of supernatural threats he let his guard down enough to be at the mercy of one of the worst; the demon Ra’s Al Ghul who has arranged an appropriate punishment to match his powers. Though Bruce is aware that his daughter Talia is a succubus and has trained accordingly to resist her thrall, he didn’t know before tonight what kind of demon Ra’s is or what kind of punishment he has in mind. It turns out Ra’s is an Incubus. The punishment he has in mind is to share.





	1. Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Taking suggestions for other characters!

He has underestimated Ra’s, Bruce thinks as he returns to consciousness slowly.

It was a mistake few got the chance to make twice. Ra’s was an elder demon, a monster that had walked the earth for so long no records remained of what type of demon he was under his stolen skin. Aside from the need to bathe in the energy of a hellmouth to restore his magic possessing a body removed most of the weaknesses that plagued demonkind. He was part of the nobility of Hell, though Bruce still hadn’t determined his specific rank, and the monster hunter had gotten used to thinking of the demon as instrument of Hell’s designs. He’d forgotten that Ra’s had his own plans.

His former patron had a personal grudge against him for fixing their contract and cheating him out of Bruce’s soul as payment. Bruce hadn’t thought the demon would stoop so low in pursuing a personal grudge. He’d been wrong. Ra’s dealt in revenge to reap his dark harvest of souls, corrupting a thirst for justice into a thirst for blood. He’d been naïve to think that Ra’s wouldn’t sabotage Hell’s plans for personal revenge against the hunter who’d outwitted him.

The elder demon wouldn’t kill him of course. Bruce’s soul was still too pure, he’d go straight to heaven and be out of the demon’s reach for good. Demons took pride in corrupting the souls of heroes, the purer and stronger the soul the more worth it had when corrupted and the more highly respected it’s corrupter became. Monster hunters were a prize to corrupt; they had to live in darkness, know the monsters and their ways to fight them. They saw things no man should see and worked without the rest of a peaceful sleep. There were so many ways for a hunter to fall; growing numb to the pain of others, or feeling it too strongly, thinking of yourself as a god, thinking of yourself as useless, endangering others or trying to face everything alone…He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Nietzche was right about that.

“Time to wake up Detective.” The demon’s smooth voice says by his ear.

The elder demon holds Bruce’s head between his hands, his sharp claw-like nails digging painfully into the skin. Bruce’s thoughts magically snap into a clear awareness, there’s no way he’ll be able to feint unconsciousness.

His eyes fly open and he takes in where he is. Thick chains are holding his arms and legs apart, he’s shackled to a stone sacrifice slab and completely naked. All his tools, all his protective charms and amulets have been taken from him, even his potions have worn off. He tenses against the chains, trying to break them on instinct, but they hold fast and runes flare along their length. He reaches for his spells and finds his mind hazed. Anti-magic bindings, but ones that also make him more vulnerable to the magics of others. This is going to hurt.

“Good. You are going to _suffer_ Detective.” Ra’s says, stepping into sight.

He could almost be human if it weren’t for the jet-black rams’ horns that burst from his skin and curled around his ears. It was the classic, inevitable expression of a demon possession. His green eyes sometimes had the slit pupils of a snake and his teeth were sometimes too sharp to be anything but fangs, but aside from that and the tough claw-like quality to his long nails he kept good care of his stolen body. No wings or hooves or tail like demons with less self-control. Ra’s kept the same body of the Arabian Magician foolish enough to summon him into it fastidiously maintained. No other demon had kept a body so long.

Bruce takes in his surroundings. It’s the loathsomely familiar place called the Tomb of the Warlock. Ambient black magic was strong here, it made it the best place for monsters and evil magicians alike to work their magic. He can taste it in the air, even though he’s in a chamber he hasn’t been in before.

Talia isn’t here, thank gods. The demon’s daughter had been born on this plane, though she didn’t possess a human body like her father. She claimed to love him and despite knowing demons were soulless and could not love Bruce isn’t sure she’s wrong. He isn’t sure anymore if it’s a weakness in him or the effects of a charm that he’s no longer sure a demon is always evil. He’d trained hard to resist the charm effects of the succubus’s kiss, but he’d still found he’d fathered a cambion when Talia had given the half-demon to his care to try and protect him. Damian wouldn’t necessarily be evil, some of the greatest magicians for good had been born of a demonic union, Merlin had been one. He had the potential to rise or fall on his own choices. His son is in Metropolis right now with a nephilim friend, dealing with his own crisis and trying to pretend his parents didn’t exist.

Bruce had to make it through this trial on his own strength. He may have underestimated Ra’s to be captured like this, but Ra’s had underestimated him if he thought there was anything he could do to break the hunter.

Ra’s seems to see the conviction reflected in his eyes because he smiles a cold smile. He drags his nails down Bruce’s bare chest, not enough yet to make him bleed.

“You think I don’t know how to break you.” The demon sounds mildly amused. “I know all the secrets of the hearts and minds of men, Bruce Wayne.”

“Yet I still outsmarted you.” Bruce says.

Ra’s strikes him across the face and his nails leave claw marks red across his cheek. The demon’s eyes go serpentine with a cold rage.

“I offered you a deal for what you wanted most in this world and you cheated me of my payment!” The demon hisses.

“What I want isn’t revenge, it’s justice.” Bruce replies, testing the limits of his restraints and captor at the same time. “You’re the one who made the agreement with me.” He smirks. “Or did you think you could just sign a contract without reading it first and get everything you want?”

Ra’s hisses like a serpent and grabs him by the throat.

“You poisonous little viper!” His forked tongue flickers between teeth that could only be called fangs, the irony apparently lost on him. “I would have given you a place at my feet, had you been content to serve me in Hell as is your due.”

The demon’s tongue flickers out, forked at the tip like a snake.

“Now you will pay your debt in suffering.” He whispers and strokes the claw marks on the Hunter’s cheek. “I will break you, little Hunter. You will suffer like you have never suffered before.”

Then he does something Bruce is genuinely not prepared for and closes the distance between their mouths. The kiss is soft but so unexpected it triggers an automatic aggressive response from Bruce. He wants nothing more than for the demon to get away from him. He sinks his teeth into the demon’s lip without thinking. He draws blood and three drops of it fall into his mouth and are swallowed. They burn like napalm on their way down his throat. He just has time to remember how much a mortal drinking a single drop of demon’s blood enhanced the hold the demon’s magic had on them before the charm hits.

Shit, he just has time to think before the charm sweeps away his resistance, Ra’s is an _incubus._

It’s nothing he’s prepared for, spreading from the center of his chest in a prickling wave of warmth that makes every part of him so sensitive it would hurt if it didn’t feel so…good. Even the feeling of the air in the chamber on his skin makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He’s instantly hard and instantly cumming just from the feeling of the demon’s body being so close to his own. It doesn’t satisfy, in fact it makes his body somehow even _more_ sensitive and desperate for something more. He’s trained to resist the succubus’s charm, the magic that overwrote your thoughts with a burning hunger to claim the demon’s body with your own. He has no training to cope with this sudden, violent thirst to be fucked and filled. A sharp gasp leaves his lips, his body arching desperately against the demon’s as Ra’s pulls back and covers his bleeding lip with one hand.

“For that I’ll take you last.” The demon hisses and Bruce sobs.

He wants nothing more than for the demon to come closer and fill him up with his cum. He’s never needed anything as much as he needs to feel the demon inside him. It’s a pathetic, dark, desperate need and he whines as Ra’s leaves his sight. His body flexes against the chains. He’s even more desperate to be free of them so he can feel the demon’s touch on his skin again.

“Compliant now aren’t you?” The demon snorts as he steps back into Bruce’s line of sight. The bleeding has already stopped. He’d expended a spark of his magic to heal the wound. If Bruce could think properly he would have called it vain. Instead all he can think of is how good it would feel to have that body inside his.

Bruce groans. He’s trying to steel himself, to _snap out of it_ , but he’s never fought an incubus’s charm, let alone one powered by _three_ drops of demon blood. The demon’s magical blood is burning in his veins, binding him closer to the natural magic of the incubus. Too much of it and he’d literally combust, dissolving into a pure flame of demonic power, and he’s not as horrified by the thought as he should be. He’s hard again _already;_ he probably doesn’t have a refractory period any more. His eyes are fixed on the demon’s face and he wordlessly pleads with the demon.

Ra’s clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Use your words Detective.” He orders.

“Please.” Bruce says immediately. A small part of him knows he should be humiliated but it’s irrelevant. “Please Ra’s. I need it.”

The demon steps around the sacrificial slab, Bruce’s head moves to follow him. He is transfixed by him like a fly in a spider’s web. He should be able to shake this off, it was just another form of mind control, just another demonic charm spell, but he doesn’t want to fight. He can’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, it’s like he’s dissolving in sunlight (how long had it last been since he last relaxed in the sun with no hunt on his mind?) He stops struggling against the chains as the pleasant haze warms him to his bones. His half-hooded eyes stare up at the demon with a look of lustful worship.

Gods, he was just so beautiful.

It reminded him of his time in the demon’s cabal, when every apprentice had been longing for a scrap of the demon’s attention. Back then Ra’s had seemed so incredibly wise, unworldly and powerful. He’d worn their worship like a cloak and falling back into that old pattern of thought feels…right. Comfortable even, like putting on an old familiar sweater again for the first time in years. He remembers the dreams he had in the haze of adolescent lust, they hadn’t all been about Talia. Now he knows that those dreams had been the demon dreamwalking and feeding on his students he should be fearful, instead he applies his years of experience to the old fantasies and makes himself moan. He can’t stop himself from picturing what he wants Ra’s to do to him.

Ra’s smirks. An incubus’s kiss served the same purpose as a vampire’s hypnotic gaze; it made feeding easier. The detective’s desperation rose from his body in waves, a delicious appetizer for the feast that was to come. No matter how this evening went he would gorge himself to fullness on the hunter’s lust, then glut himself on the excess energy and bask in the greed of it. His serpentine eyes read every twisted fantasy of the hunter reflected on his face. Oh, he is going to _enjoy this._

Ra’s drags a nail along the hunter’s side and watches him twitch and gasp with longing. He’s stopped trying to escape, now he looks up at the demon with desperate, worshiping eyes.

“Master…” Bruce begs in a breathy whisper. It’s been years since he called Ra’s his master, but he knows what the demon wants to hear from him. Pure, unfiltered _contrition._ “Master, please!”

The demon smiles coldly and raises a hand to gently caress the hunter’s bleeding cheek. The hunter breathes out a shuddering sigh and desperately rubs against it, shivering with the need to feel more but utterly incapable of doing anything. That was the magic of an incubus, perfectly _pliant_ submission. He runs a thumb over the hunter’s lower lip and Bruce opens his mouth, tongue flickering hungrily over his teeth. His desperation grows, his dirtiest desires nearly crystallizing in the air to the incubus’s demon vision. Delicious. The demon’s forked tongue flickers over his teeth, tasting the lust hazing the air like it was a fine wine.

There were few things Ra’s loved more than the taste of desperation. He trails his fingertips down the hunter’s chest and watches the breath catch in Bruce’s throat. The demon digs in his claws enough to draw blood and the hunter gasps and arches into his touch, a desperate yelp leaving his lips as Ra’s leaves claw marks down his body. The charm has taken hold of him completely, with three drops of demon blood enhancing the effect he’d never get to break free of it until the spell is ended.

Ra’s is tempted to make it permanent. A collar of runes scratched into the skin with his fingernails would seal the hunter’s mind in this state forever. He raises one bloodied hand to his lips and slowly licks the blood off his nails, the hunter’s eyes fixated on the flicker of his forked tongue from between his lips. He can taste himself on Bruce’s blood, the faint spice of demon taint running through the hunter’s veins. Demon blood was incredibly addicting, it wouldn’t take too many feedings to destroy even the strongest of mortal minds.

Ra’s was more experienced in the ways of humanity than any others of his kind, he could keep the human alive for _centuries_ in a dazed stupor of absolute longing, longer if he keeps his adversary in his hellish equivalent of a wine cellar and only feeds from him on special occasions. Talia would fuss and the cambion would cry but they were both so very young and he was so much wiser than them. They would settle down, or they would perish, or possibly both, it is irrelevant to a being that had lived longer than empires.

As his claws rake through the hunter’s skin and delicious red blood wells up around his fingertips he contemplates carving his name into the hunter’s chest. A scarred souvenir to remember him by, so that every time he saw himself in a bathroom mirror, every time some young lover thought to claim him, Bruce would be reminded of this night and the things he had _begged_ for.

No, the hunter had not been that poor an adversary. Ra’s had kept many humans that way and found the savor tended to wear off. There was only so much pleasure to be derived from hurting an obedient, mindless slave. They were too desperate for the attention, for any stimulus, to properly suffer. He was no stripling imp squabbling in the firepits for the souls of petty adulterer and unimaginative murderers, he was nobility and his larder was well stocked. This was not a matter of him hunting for survival. This was about revenge. What good would his revenge be if the hunter does not _suffer?_

Ra’s drags a sharp nail up the length of the hunter’s already hard cock and Bruce cums with a yelp, spurting a magically enhanced amount of semen onto his stomach. The incubus’s magic would ensure he wouldn’t run dry, nor gain any true release until Ra’s had him. He leans in closer, running his tongue over his lips and watching the hunger grow in his captive’s eyes. The demon draws in a deep breath of the lust-filled air. Bruce shivers with anticipation.

Ra’s gently kneads at his chest like a friendly cat, the sharp points of his nails pricking but not deep enough to draw more blood. He hums to himself, drawing out the moment to draw a desperate needy whine from the charmed hunter. No, he has better plans.

He takes out his tools with a practiced slowness that makes his captive break down and beg. The words sound so sweet coming from the hunter’s mouth. For all his plans, all his carefulness, the detective was and could only ever be _human._ He couldn’t help the inherent weakness of his nature.

The lust energy emanating from the hunter comes to a point as Ra’s uncorks the potion bottle and the clear, honey-thick liquid within spills out onto his fingers. A deep needy groan leaves the hunter’s mouth and Ra’s, well Ra’s is too hungry not to indulge. He recaptures the hunter’s lips, this time Bruce not only lets him but invites it with a desperate, eager need to please. Ra’s unhinges his jaw and starts to feed. Life energy streams off the hunter’s soul to nourish the demon. The hunter gasps as his life is pulled away, the strength of his soul being siphoned off into the demon’s body. It _aches_ like an illness, making his limbs weak and a feverish heat burn in him but it doesn’t feel _bad._ It feels like a drug high, terrible for you but so good…

One of the demon’s hands draws a slow circle on the hunter’s chest, while the other slips between his thighs. Bruce moans into the demon’s mouth as it slips inside his unresisting hole, spilling more sexual energy into the incubus’s mouth. It’s good, it’s so good it _hurts,_ but at the same time its not enough. His thighs shake, and a needy whine spills from his lips. The demon doesn’t indulge him, instead Ra’s smirks against his mouth and fingers him open with a painful slowness.

The slick feeling of the demon’s fingers in him, stroking his insides and working him open, leaves him even more sensitive and desperate. The chains clink and the hunter’s fingers claw at the sides of the slab as he tries to rock back against the demon’s fingers.

He knows it’s pathetic, but he needs more. He needs it more than he needs to breathe and when the demon’s finger brushes his prostate his eyes roll back in his head as he cums. The demon strokes the spot and orgasm after orgasm hits in a rippling wave of white-hot pleasure that wipes away the hunter’s thoughts. He surfaces gasping desperately for breath, his insides on _fire,_ and the _need_ burning inside him. He can’t even beg anymore.

The demon’s fingers slip free and he places a brief, unsatisfying chaste kiss on the hunter’s forehead.

“I sent out word once I knew I had you captured.” Ra’s tells him. “You have made so many enemies detective, and they are eager to enjoy you.” He smiles the cold, cruel smile of a prince of hell. “I think you will enjoy them too.”

He reaches out and strokes Bruce’s cheek and in that moment the hunter can’t think of anything he wants more.


	2. Dragon

To the lust-addled haze the charm made of his mind it seems like forever before someone else enters the chamber. His ears are straining for the sound of an approach and his body trembles with eagerness. He is hard again, his cock twitching against his stomach. Even though he feels a thrum of anticipation under his skin it’s not enough for him to actually cum again.

The sound of boots on the bare stone has him arching against the chain, flushed and desperately panting for breath before the first curious seeker enters the chamber. The footsteps pause when he arches against the chains, but when he collapses back against the slab with a frustrated sob they resume.

Bruce twists against the chains with growing desperation. The cool air of the chamber feels like torture against his sensitive skin. He needs to be _touched._

“So it’s true,” a familiar voice rumbles from the shadows and yes, fuck yes, _FUCK_ yes, it’s him, fuck me now! “He really does have you.”

Bruce arches his back enough to make eye contact, spreading his legs further as he desperately fights the chains. His hips thrust uselessly at open air with a frustrated grunt. He manages to half raise himself up enough to actually see the new guest in the chamber. He’s standing there with his head cocked curiously to the side, simply watching the hunter struggle.

Dragons, even those experienced enough to take human form, didn’t have the same sense of morals as humans. By the standards of his kind Slade was honorable, it was only by humanity’s standards he became a monster. Bruce was never quite sure where he stood with the dragon, sometimes he could be an ally against a greater foe, sometimes he took offense at any little thing, but most of the time his thought process was a mystery. The only thing you could count on was he wanted what all dragons wanted; money, power and blood.

“Please Slade, I’ll give you everything I have, money, power, anything!” Bruce begs.

“You can’t beat the demon’s offer.” The black dragon growls as he observes the hunter with one ice cold eye.

Perhaps it’s a familiar scene to him, Bruce knows they used to sacrifice virgins to the black dragon back in Gotham’s past, though the only sacrifice he took _was_ their virginity. The thought makes him drool. He might not be a virgin but he’d eagerly be Slade’s sacrifice.

“Please, Slade I’ll do anything, just please fuck me!” Bruce pleads and the pupil of the dragon’s eye goes serpentine.

He leaps onto the slab with a snarl. His lips draw back from teeth that have shifted into fangs and a glow of flame highlights each tooth’s sharp edge. Fingernails that have become claws bite into the stone of the slab and for a moment his shadow has wings spreading open behind him and throwing the room into shadow. The whipped-up wind sweeps across the chamber.

“You don’t know what you ask of me Hunter!” the black dragon growls in a rumble that seems too large for his body.

Bruce tries to arch up enough to kiss him. He just misses, kissing the side of the dragon’s mouth, instead of his lips. Slade grabs him by the throat and shoves him back against the slab. With a low growl he slams his lips into the hunter’s. A shiver runs over Bruce’s skin, a shiver of incubus magic demanding he sits still and submit to pleasure, and he is happy to obey.

The black dragon’s kiss is bruising and possessive as he lets his full weight settle on the hunter’s chest. The scale mail of shed dragon scales is cool against Bruce’s skin and he grinds up against it. There’s a huff of amusement from Slade, a warm breath tickling his skin as the dragon’s tongue curls hotly inside his mouth. The dragon shifts to get a better angle and his fingers, no longer claws, trail curiously over the hunter’s skin, mapping the many scars of his battles to protect the city from the supernatural. One nail digs into a particularly deep valley of scar tissue running across the hunter’s shoulder. Bruce shivers.

“You remember this one.” Slade says in something resembling a purr.

Bruce nods with his throat dry. He’d only just managed to roll out of the way, otherwise the black dragon’s talon would have ripped out his lungs and heart in one stroke. He’d still lost use of the arm for months. Magical healing could only take you so far, especially against wounds made by a magical creature. Instant healing bore the highest cost, at best you were looking at months of magical exhaustion, at worse you paid in blood. It was far safer to heal naturally and live with the scars.

“It could have killed you.” Slade growls, but it’s different from his usual growl whether content and gloating or angry and defeated. It’s more like a purr. The sound makes the hairs on Bruce’s arms stand on end, but in a way that’s far from _unpleasant_ …

The black dragon leans in and the points of his fangs touch the skin of Bruce’s neck. The hunter swallows and feels the fangs dig in with the roll of his skin. His jugular vein is pulsing between Slade’s teeth. The dragon could easily tear out his throat, yet he’s not even drawing blood. He growls against the hunter’s skin, the vibrations running through his throat. For a heartbeat Bruce forgets how to breathe.

“Consider this my sign of respect for you.” Slade purrs as his tongue glides along Bruce’s pulse. “The closest dragontongue has to ‘friend’ translates as ‘enemy who is still alive.’”

He moves forwards and Bruce swallows, a little gasp leaving him as Slade’s knee slips between his thighs. He wants to rut against it but Slade still has his throat and if he moved suddenly he’d cut himself open on Slade’s fangs.

“Do you know how dragons choose a mate, Hunter?” The black dragon growls. “We fight. We fight over and over and over and prove our strength to each other until one of us lies defeated on their back.” One finger traces down the scar and makes Bruce shiver. “Then the victor takes what they want, understand?”

Bruce swallows then nods. He _feels_ the dragon smile against him.

“Good.” Slade hums.

The sound and the teeth around his throat paralyze him as the black dragon reaches down and undoes his belt. The small sound of it seems sharp in his senses and the incubus’s charm rolls over Bruce like a fever heat, the arousal almost sickening in its intensity. He wants the dragon inside him already, but he can’t move as Slade _slowly_ undoes his armor.

The Hunter used powdered dragon scales in his own armor to make it fireproof, but a full suit of scales like Slade wore required a closer relationship with a dragon than any Hunter with _morals_ could manage. If Slade had to take human form (and a dragon didn’t live as long as Slade without understanding why you sometimes _had_ to take human form) he preferred the protection of his own scales however he had to get it. He _must_ be confident in his safety to be taking the armor off.

The dragon’s other hand starts at his shoulder, moving down from the scar across his chest. Bruce tries to arch into the touch and Slade’s purr of a growl takes a rougher edge, a familiar edge that meant the black dragon was displeased. Bruce realizes the dragon wants him to stay still.

No, not just still.

Compliant.

Submitting.

He breathes out and lets his body go still.

Even without the incubus’s charm, even without demon’s blood in his veins, even without the _chains,_ he had no chance of fighting off Slade while naked. Even with his gear it would be 50/50 odds. As well as the physical might of a dragon Slade had a sharp enough mind to cast spells and the tomb would amplify them. Besides he had a notorious habit of being liberal with the dragonfire in enclosed spaces. Slade has already ‘won’ whatever battle there could have been here simply by showing up. The dragon will take his prize.

Still he feels the black dragon wasn’t lying when he’d said this was a sign of respect.

Dragons famously lacked mercy, when they saw something roll on its back the instinct was to disembowel it. For him to be this vulnerable and not dead yet meant that a member of a famously arrogant race of magical creature was acknowledging him as if he was a dragon too. If Slade did kill him Bruce is sure Ra’s wouldn’t be able to stop him. Who would win the resulting fight is less certain but it wouldn’t matter to him, he’d be dead.

Yet the dragon’s hands aren’t drawing blood as they run over him. They’re not gentle persay, but not intending to injure which was rare for a dragon. He’s just applying enough pressure to remind the Hunter he’s lost.

It must be the incubus charm because there’s no way Bruce would be giving in this easily without magic. His insatiable erection lies heavy on his stomach as Slade parts his legs. The dragon’s hands grip his thighs, lifting them up and, oh, he’s just loosened his armor enough to free his cock so Bruce’s resting on scale-armored thighs. The black dragon’s scales feel so nice and cool against his burning skin.

Slade doesn’t bother with any further preparation; he simply aligns their bodies and thrusts in. The potion Ra’s had lubricated him with makes the way easy but Bruce still gasps at the unfamiliar slick feeling as the dragon’s cock presses into him. It’s big and thick and hard, and filling him in the way his charmed mind has been begging for.

Slade’s teeth remain fixed around his throat but fuck, he loves being reminded that the black dragon could kill him at will. He loves how rough Slade’s being with his body, how focused the dragon is on only his pleasure. He loves how powerless he is, how defeated he is, how anyone or anything can use him like a toy. It’s good, it’s so good. He is a thing made to be fucked and filled.

The dragon grunts against him, the breath snorted from the dragon’s nostrils is hot against his skin and smells of ash. He’s only brushing against the hunter’s prostate by accident but Bruce’s insides are supernaturally sensitive. He feels every inch of the dragon’s cock move inside him and its being filled with it that satisfies the magic. He wishes there was a way he could take it in deeper but Slade’s the one in control here and he can only lie still like a good little fucktoy as the dragon makes use of him.

Gods, he hopes Slade cums inside him. He wants to be filled with the dragon’s seed, but the choice isn’t up to him. He belonged the Slade who would do what he wanted with him.

“My hunter.” Slade hisses from between his fangs. His eyes are going serpentine again, pupils dilating like a snake striking. “My _Enemy_.” His last word is said in Dragontongue, the word that was the closest dragons had for friend.

Bruce moans and he feels that rumbling purr against his exposed neck as the fangs dig in enough to bruise. The dragon’s thrusts speed up, rocking the hunter’s body against his lap faster. Bruce chokes on a gasp at the feeling and the gasp become a wordless keening plea. He’s so close, so close to cumming! His cock twitches on his stomach, swollen and hard and weeping precum. He nearly cums as Slade leans forwards, driving himself in deeper and brutally stimulating the hunter’s prostate as he covers the hunter’s body with his own.

“My prize.” The dragon pants. “My treasure.”

The teeth leave Bruce’s neck and the dragon throws back his head as he fills the hunter with his seed. As he cums his transformation spell flickers in a ripple running down his head to his toes. For a second Slade has horns sticking through his hair and a flare of fire leaves teeth that are fully fangs. A row of spines ripples down his back, ending in a tail that briefly twists before the magic erases it from existence. His nails become claws that bite into the stone, his tongue forks and his eye becomes fully reptilian. His cock inside Bruce shifts, for a moment becoming even thicker and longer and so big the hunter can barely take it. He cums, spilling his seed over his stomach as the dragon spills _his_ seed inside him.

It’s hot, hotter than the cum Bruce has spilled on his stomach, almost as hot as the demon’s blood he’d swallowed. The sudden burst of pleasure is stronger than a drug. He completely loses himself in it, but the feeling fades before the dragon pulls out. Bruce can feel the black dragon’s warm seed spilling out of his hole. He moans with longing to be filled again.

Slade chuckles as he does up his belt.

“That’s my lot for now little hunter.” He says. “Losers don’t get to make demands. If you’re still this eager after the magic wears off you can come and fight me in my lair.” He grins a predatory grin. “When you lose I’ll fuck you on my hoard.”

Bruce groans.

The thought of the black dragon filling him with hot cum against the dragon’s amassed fortune seems irresistible. Fighting him hand-to-hand in the place Slade was the strongest, then being pinned down and taken like an animal…He wants it. He wants to be bloodied and bruised and panting for breath when he’s fucked against the hoard.

More than anything he wants to be filled again.

As Slade leaves a desperate strangled sob leaves the hunter’s traitorous lips, but the black dragon doesn’t look back.

He simply walks away and leaves Bruce flexing against the chains and wondering who else might come and help him with his need.


	3. Fae Lord

The next visitor is preceded by a tapping of a cane on stone and a light humming of some catchy tune. Bruce doesn’t need to be the genius detective he is to figure this one out.

It’s a surprise, but not much. He’d underestimated who among his many enemies would be interested in him sexually, but Ra’s had clearly advertised this opportunity as a curiosity rather than a conquest.

Of course the fae would show up. Curiosity was as much a feast for him as sexual desire was for the incubus. He could hardly turn down the invitation, or indeed any invitation. That was one of the things that made him Seelie; he followed the rules, twisted them maybe, bent them until they were at breaking point, but never broke them. He’d still kill you if you got one of his riddles wrong, but that was considered entirely just in the Summer Court. To think that people called them the nice ones, mistaking following rules for goodness.

Bruce hated dealing with the elf. It wasn’t that he was a great magical powerhouse, and he certainly couldn’t fight. There was just a smug condescension about everything he did, that he was lowering himself by merely being perceptible to this plane, like an adult playing along with the games of children. At least he had the common weakness of his kind, none of which Bruce was in a position to take advantage of. The only consolation was that, as always, there would be rules, the rule there always was; answer correctly or perish.

A pair of emerald eyes, the color of the precious stone rather than any living shade, gleam briefly in the dark as they switch subtly from the cat’s eyes that could pierce shadows to eyes that looked human. With the curling red hair peaking under the green bowler hat and the spray of freckles across the bridge of his upturned nose the elf looked distinctly Irish. Willowy and short, unlike Tolkien’s elves, but anyone who called him a Leprechaun was forfeiting their kneecaps. He barely bothered to glamor his long, pointed elfin ears that marked him as a true fae rather than a hybrid.

The cane topped with a question mark of solid gold (the real kind not the fairy kind) taps against the ground as he walks. He was some kind of fae nobility, the internal politics of a fae court were complex enough that Bruce wouldn’t bother investigating further. Fae, all fae, valued most highly _entertainment._ The immortal spirits grew bored easily. Eddie was a popular noble at the court because he could always provide a new tale of how he almost beat the Gotham monster hunter. That he never did didn’t matter to the court; it was just building up suspense for when he _did_ win. Bruce, after all, was mortal and the Riddler was decidedly _not._

The Riddler of the Summer Court, master of puzzles for the enjoyment of the Summer Queen, it was definitely a title but Bruce was unsure if it was a title that was inherited like that of so many of his enemies, or if he was the same entity as the one in the Irish tales. He was colloquially known as Tricky Eddie.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

Despite himself Bruce feels a prickling on shame that he’s disappointed the fae in some way. He wants to impress the fae, he wants to do good, and get rewarded. His cock twitches against his stomach with eager desire for the fae lord.

The cane strikes him in the stomach, though without any real force behind the blow. He whimpers softly as the cane drags along the curves of his stomach and his breath stutters.

“What a pathetic sight you are Hunter.” The Riddler drawls.

Bruce whimpers. A small part of himself still free of the incubus’s charm hates himself for it but the elf’s face merely splits into a cold, cruel smile.

“What’s the square root of 196?” The elf asks.

“Wh…?” Bruce can’t focus on anything but the feeling of a smooth curve of cold metal now resting against his balls. It feels almost ice cold against the burning of the skin.

“The square root of 196.” Riddler demands, the curve of the cane resting around the hunter’s straining cock. The rules said he must give them a chance to answer three times before he can dole out punishment, the Seelie Court was big on the Rule of Threes.

“…14.” Bruce says hoarsely as the incubus’s charm burns in his veins. “Eddie, please.”

“What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the day, and three legs in the evening?” The familiar riddle seems to pour like honey from the fae’s mouth. There was some scholarly debate among hunters as to the fae’s relation to the Sphinx.

“Man.” Bruce blurts out, nearly before the elf is done and gets a warning increase of pressure from the staff. “it’s a man!”

“Well your memory works at least.” The Riddler takes a casual seat at the end of the slab with his legs dangling off the side. “Good.” He sniffs. “I do hate dealing with mortals who can’t quite get into the spirit of things.”

His hand darts out like a snake striking and grips him around the cock. Bruce breathes out sharply at the feeling of the gloved hand wrapping around his length and a dribble of precum spurts out and drips onto the elf’s glove. He arches his hips up as hard as he can then crashes back down on the slab gasping for breath. The fae’s hand hasn’t moved.

“One last question and you get to cum, hunter~!” The fae calls out in a singsong voice.

Bruce groans enthusiastically and tries to buck his hips up into the Riddler’s hand. The elf doesn’t let him, he keeps a ruthless control that prevents him from gaining any satisfaction.

“Final question” The Riddler’s green eyes gleam malevolently. “Will you hand over control of Gotham to me?”

Much like a demon a contract with a fae, even a verbal one, was binding by magical law. Ra’s makes a brief sound of displeasure and Riddler shushes him, leaning in close to the hunter. His eyes gleam like a cat’s, pupils narrow and inhuman.

“I…I…aaargh!” Bruce yelps as the gloved hand moves on his cock. He ruts up against it as hard as he can with the chains still holding him down.

“The clock is ticking Hunter~!” The Riddler sings out as he pumps his hand across the Hunter’s cock, keeping him on the edge of cumming without letting him find release.

The incubus’s charm _burns_ in his skin like actual fire, he’s burning up with all-consuming desperate _need_ and a sharp whine leaves him despite his best efforts. He wants, he _needs,_ he’s burning up, he’s dying without it. There’s tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his body is so terribly sensitive it’s like his nerves have been exposed to the air, but he can’t…he can’t.

“N…!” He bites his tongue to force himself not to answer.

The fae’s hand tightens and Bruce’s hips jerk as he starts to cum. The cane comes down against him, cutting him off before he can reach orgasm. He gasps in frustration, his fingers tightening in his chains as his body slumps against the slab. The elf looks down at him demandingly and he manages to force the air into his lungs.

He can’t, but he needs, but he _can’t._ The terrible need of the charm eats away against the small part of him that screams he can’t give Gotham over to a fae. He’s not going to be allowed relief, he’s not allowed to spill his seed until Eddie gets the answer he wants. Another denied orgasm rises and breaks in him, Eddie’s slender elfin fingers not _quite_ allowing him satisfaction. He bites his lip and blood bursts in his mouth, his teeth tightly clenched as he tries to fight the charm. Satisfaction is close, so close but he can’t reach it. He needs to answer, he need to give the fae the answer he wants, but he can’t, he just _can’t._

“Ngh…No!” He openly sobs with a shudder as he forces the word past his trembling lips.

The hand stops.

“That…is the right answer.” The fae purrs in his ear and with a twist of his fingers Bruce cums so hard he blacks out for a few seconds.

When he comes to he realizes that Eddie is still talking past the charmed haze.

“Still got your wits about then.” The fae’s voice filters through the haze. His cane rests under the Hunter’s chin. “Good. I would hate for you to lose your head over an _infernal_ charm.” There’s a clear mocking edge in his tone, looking down on the demonic magic.

Demons and fae were about as vain as each other, but the fae had _invented_ charms and glamor. They looked down on the demons such as succubi and incubi who made them their focus, sneering at them as poor-quality imitators feigning mastery with a borrowed magic. As near as any hunter could tell it was a case of convergent magic evolution, the two magical races developing the same technique independent of each other.

“You are here at my invitation.” Ra’s growls warningly.

The elf settles with a vaguely apologetic murmur, the likelihood that the incubus could tear him limb from limb at will was less important than the possibility he was being a poor guest. They were both creatures bound by rules, the laws of guest hospitality were like physical laws to them. If one broke them the other would rip them apart instantly, the prisoner forgotten. Part of him loathed that, a larger part craved their attention back on him. Bruce clears his throat without thinking about it.

Eddie gives one of his pectorals a patronizing pat, like he was a dog.

“As I was _saying,”_ He goes back to his speech. “There’s a limited amount of fun I can attract from a brainless animal, sure it would be an impressive feat in and of itself to lower you to such but still, I can have a charmed slave whenever I wish. As impressive as it is.” Riddler taps it with his cane. “I have no interest in your cock. At least.” Here he smiles. “Not when it’s provided at a demon’s leisure.”

He tips his hat with his cane.

“No offense meant to our gracious host of course, who has so kindly offered his hospitality, but I’d prefer you trapped, squirming and helpless because of my _own_ considerable prowess. So I wish to make a deal.”

There’s another noise of disapproval from Ra’s that makes the hunter’s skin prickle with guilt. Bruce nods with his throat dry, his eyes unstoppably drawn to the Fae’s own.

Fae eyes were always breathtakingly beautiful, they never looked natural or human, the beauty they held was always an unearthly thing. They relied on it, a fae’s glamor was a natural magical ability that allowed them to ensnare others with illusions, and the eyes were both the only thing their illusions could not disguise and the way they locked in their charms. Bruce never let himself look at them for long, too wary of being enchanted, and now he relishes the excuse to stare. They sparkle from within with inner fire, as if light’s being reflected around internal facets. This is the first time he’s noticed, there’s flecks of gold sparkling like stars in the green…

“Tch.” The elf clicks his tongue disapprovingly, making the hunter’s eye flicker to his mouth, how his lips move as they shape words. “It does sadden me to see you reduced to this, even if it is the result of your own foolishness.” He leans in close enough for the warmth of his breath to tickle the hunter’s ear.

His gloved hand grips Bruce’s throat, over the marks left by the dragon’s teeth.

“Will you accept my price?” He asks in a whisper that sends a wave of desperate longing crashing through the hunter’s body. “In exchange for a fae lord’s blessing?”

Even through the charm ravaging his brain he knows the deal is a massive risky, he doesn't know what he's trading or what for, but that the deal wouldn't be offered if Eddie was planning on screwing him over. A fae could only offer power over what was in their domain, what was the domain of a Riddler...Puzzles, questions and knowledge.

There's pity in the fae's eyes, but it's the same level of pity a human might show to a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Tragic, perhaps, but not worth the trouble of dealing with the spider to free it. Bruce trusts in the elf's selfishness. His master's would be disappointed if he no longer had new tales to tell them. Maybe it's just the charm dulling his sense of danger but he manages to nod.

Eddie kisses Bruce’s forehead. There's a sudden sensation like ice water's been dumped over his brain and he gasps sharply as his ability to _think_ comes rushing back to him. Immediately new plans for escape leap to the front of his mind but his limbs are still lax and heavy. The fae has freed his higher brain function but he hasn't dispelled the charm. His lower brain functions were still trapped in the demon's grasp. He can think about escaping but that's all, he can't force his body to make the motions to actually do it. The Riddler smiles a cold, cruel smile.

“So I’ll bid you adieu for now sweet prince.” He cuts a neat bow. “Until we meet again.” He takes a step away from the slab. “Oh.” He spreads his fingers, strings of fluid gleaming against the green of his glove. At least it wasn't his firstborn, Bruce thinks, aware of exactly how bad this could have gone for him. “And I’ll be taking this as payment. Ciao!”

The Riddler’s mocking laughter follows him, echoing in the stone corridors as he cheerfully leaves the bound Hunter to his fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment below with who you want to see with Bruce, what supernatural creature they'd be and/or anything else kinky you'd like to see and I'll see if I can include them


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